


The Long After

by whaleandjanuary



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bad End AU, Byleth and Dimitri are basically the only survivors of the war, Dubious Consent, Enemies to Lovers, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Black Eagles Route, Imprisonment, M/M, Male My Unit | Byleth, Past Dimitri/Felix, Post-Canon, Suicidal Thoughts, Tempest King Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd, Torture, Weird Ending, Whump, YMMV but I think it's a happy ending, spoilers for all routes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-15
Updated: 2020-10-15
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:54:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27029932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whaleandjanuary/pseuds/whaleandjanuary
Summary: After the massacre at Tailtean, Byleth is stripped of his powers and imprisoned at the mercy of the new king of United Fódlan. Byleth is forced to determine who he is when he's not the Goddess anymore.Maybe he can find an answer he can live with, if Dimitri doesn't kill him first.Where did it all go so wrong? Felix. The turning point had to be Felix.
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/My Unit | Byleth
Comments: 17
Kudos: 52





	The Long After

**Author's Note:**

> On October 25, 2019, this art was posted: https://twitter.com/guessibetter/status/1187581519147216898?lang=en. I have been thinking about this fic since then. (Thank you to cosu for drawing it and to brooklynapple for having a twitter account and reaching out to the artist before I wrote this weird torture fic.) 
> 
> A lot of terrible stuff happens in this story (moreso in the beginning) and I'm going to do per-chapter tags in the author's notes in addition to the general tags I have. Also: _nearly every named FE3H character is dead_. Stuff went bad here. 
> 
> The story is loosely split into three arcs consisting of "torture and despair," "awkward posturing," and "two broken people boning a lot." 
> 
> Re: dubious consent specifically - Byleth's still a prisoner even if they both totally want to have sex by the time they get to it. 
> 
> This chapter has: torture! broken bones! severed limbs! unkind healing, non-consensual bondage, non-consensual use of gags, and graphic major character death in a flashback.

The first time Dimitri came to torture Byleth, he broke every bone in Byleth's right arm. 

Later, much later, Byleth would think, _That can't be right._ There were so many fiddly little bones in the hand and fingers, and he couldn't have gotten them all - neither Dimitri nor the healer had spent that much time on his hand and - at any rate it probably wasn't _all_ the bones.

But none of the musings of the Byleth of _then_ mattered to the Byleth of _now_ , who was being bound to a wooden table and trying not to scream. 

The three guards who'd brought in the table wore full plate with closed helmets. Byleth wasn't in a state to fight off one armed guard, much less three. But it was good that they were still considering him a serious threat. Maybe they'd treat him better if they were afraid of what he could do. 

Byleth took a last look around the room before one of the guards pushed his head back against the table. They (she?) slipped a rope under the metal collar around his neck and tied it to one of the rings set into the table's surface. His other limbs had been similarly tied down and he lay immobilized and flooded with dread. They hadn't brought any other objects into the room, so he didn't know what they were going to _do_. 

Maybe they were just going to hit him. Maybe something with magic - Byleth assumed he was to be interrogated by the priest standing across the room. They were dressed in red-and-white robes, and their face was covered as well, with a hood and mask. But not an Agarthan-style pointed mask; it was plain white, and featureless save for eye holes. This was not the normal style for Faerghan healers, and he did not know what it meant. Faerghus didn't do anonymous torture. You were supposed to know your captor. If you were going to brutalize someone, at least admit it. 

Wasn't that how honor worked in Faerghus?

~~~

The priest was not Byleth's interrogator.

After a few minutes of silent waiting, the heavy iron door swung open, and Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd himself, last king of Faerghus, entered the room. He stood tall and imposing, but his footsteps were slightly too heavy. Byleth could tell he was exhausted even before he approached the table and the the dark circles under his eyes became obvious. His hair hung partially in his eyes and loose around his shoulders.

The last time Byleth had seen Dimitri was on the battlefield. He was in his father's armor then, wet with mud and rain and the blood of too many friends. 

(That was not truly the last time Byleth had seen Dimitri, but the past week had been a blur of shock and pain. Perhaps it was better to have forgotten the wild fury in Rhea's voice as she addressed the crowd in Fhirdiad.) 

Today, Dimitri was dressed simply, in his black plate, with no cape. His coronation armor, Byleth thought, black for a king crowned in wartime. Would Rhea crown him again as King of Fódlan? Would he dress in silver and blue? Would he be a good king under the circumstances? Could he?

Dimitri looked down at Byleth for a long moment. His lips twitched but he said nothing. Byleth stared back at him. 

Finally, Dimitri spoke. "It has been a long time, Professor." 

Byleth nodded, waiting. Nothing good was going to happen here, but possibly he had control over how _bad_ it would be. 

"How _kind_ of you to finally accept my invitation to join me in Fhirdiad. You'll have to pardon us for the accommodations. We're entertaining many guests at the moment." Dimitri almost never turned that vicious sarcastic streak on Byleth. Guests. As though he wasn't in the dungeons under Castle Fhirdiad. As though Byleth's limbs didn't clink with silver chains and shackles. As though he wasn't stripped of everything that made him powerful and bound to to a table in too-thin clothes in a room where no one would light the fire or offer any comfort. 

As though they were friends. 

Despite Dimitri's tone and Byleth's very real fears, he had already decided that he would not lie. There was no point to it, and he wanted to preserve that much of himself. 

So Byleth said, "I'm happy you're alive," because he was glad that _someone_ else was. 

Dimitri's eyes widened. Then his eyebrows furrowed and his shoulders tensed. Byleth heard a slight creak - a gloved hand curling into a fist? But then Dimitri exhaled sharply and said, "I cannot share your sentiment." 

Dimitri took a step back and tilted his head slightly. "Healer." The priest made a wordless sound of acknowledgement. "Warn me when I reach the limits of your ability to fix someone. I'm not ready to do anything permanent _yet_." 

Dimitri pulled the rope ties at Byleth's right wrist and shoulder until they snapped. Those had not been thin ropes. 

Dimitri lifted Byleth's arm off the table. He rubbed a thumb against the Crest of Blaiddyd carved into the silver cuff on Byleth's wrist. He pushed up the sleeve of Byleth's linen shirt and examined his arm. He ran a clawed fingertip down Byleth's skin from shoulder to elbow. Byleth gritted his teeth against the urge to jerk his arm away. Claws? Dimitri didn't wear clawed gauntlets.

Byleth's chest hurt, pounding with terror, the feeling alien and monstrous. Byleth quite literally could not remember the last time he'd really been _afraid_. Byleth had felt fear plenty of times, but only momentary stabs - usually before a literal momentary stab. He had no defenses against this growing dread. 

"Tell me about Enbarr," Dimitri said. Dimitri turned Byleth's hand over, and brought it close enough to his face that Byleth could feel his breath tickling the hair on the back of his hand. Byleth wondered for a moment if Dimitri was going to kiss it. Instead he bent Byleth's fingers into his palm, one by one. 

"Your hand is cold," said Dimitri, as though he were surprised to discover it. 

"I'm... freezing. I'm not dressed for the weather and no one lights the fire." Was he telling Dimitri something he didn't know?

"Hmm." He bent Byleth's arm back and forth at the elbow. Then he turned to the healer. "Light the fire when you leave." 

Then back to Byleth. "Tell me about Enbarr." 

"What about Enbarr?" Byleth asked. 

"What tricks do _she_ and her poisonous advisor have waiting for me there?" Dimitri placed Byleth's arm back on the table. 

"You're going to Enbarr?" Byleth asked, regretting it the second he spoke. Of course Dimitri had to go to Enbarr, to solidify control. But Byleth didn't - there hadn't been a fall-back-to-Enbarr plan. Either they won at Fhirdiad or they all died. Whatever troops were there would just be the normal capital guard, minus the ones pulled off for the march north. 

Dimitri scoffed. "Of course. If nothing else, I have to redecorate. I don't how long it will take to scrub the stains your emperor's bloody hands have left on the city, but we must try. And I promised myself I would hang something on the gates there long ago." Fuck - did he - it didn't bear thinking about. 

"Or I could simply burn the city if I think the risk is too great." Coming from Dimitri, this probably wasn't a serious threat. But Rhea? What state was she in? 

"Don't - you can't - they're just people. You can probably get the soldiers to surrender. You have to promise - aaah -"

Dimitri pressed his palm into Byleth's elbow, pushing it into the table until Byleth gasped. "Promise? This is not a negotiation, Professor." 

Byleth made a pained noise and turned his face away. Dimitri reached out and held Byleth's cheeks between two clawed fingers, not tightly enough to draw blood, but close. He turned Byleth's face back. 

"You will watch," Dimitri said. "Surely one so skilled in ending lives hasn't become shy about violence now?" 

One thing Byleth knew well about Dimitri was that he would never hurt his beloved. But Byleth looked up into two icy blue eyes and knew he was not The Beloved. If one had ever existed here, they were almost certainly dead. Byleth was just another person who'd betrayed him. 

Dimitri leaned closer. Byleth shuddered, and grunted in pain as his cheek tore. Dimitri said, in a whisper, "And who better to appreciate this than a fellow monster?" 

Dimitri pushed Byleth's elbow into the table until his bones cracked. 

The Tempest King was rumored to be able to crush a human skull in his bare hands, and Byleth was one of the people who knew it was true. (Leo. Leo Blackwell. That was the name of the soldier he'd done it to in the Holy Tomb. Byleth had figured it out once, back when he still thought it was possible to remember the names of all the dead.) 

Those gruesome memories could not prepare Byleth for the actual pain of having his arm crushed. He screamed (which tore his other cheek), tried to arch his back, tried to get away - but he just pulled futilely at the ropes holding him down. 

Dimitri said something with a small smile, but Byleth couldn't hear him over his own yelling. And Dimitri didn't _stop_. He let go of Byleth's face, and Byleth thought he was being given a chance to catch his breath and promise to talk. But Dimitri took his hand and bent back two of his fingers until they snapped. 

Forget fear - Byleth couldn't remember the last time he'd been in this much _pain_. Not that he could easily recall anything at the moment except the lancing agony in his arm. Byleth had suffered grievous injuries frequently, but only for a moment before he could unmake things and fix the situation. The last time Byleth had _stayed_ in pain was...

Dimitri had to know that Byleth couldn't possibly answer him in this state. And in fact Dimitri had stopped speaking, and was merely watching Byleth uselessly thrash and scream. Eventually, Byleth's noises faded to unsteady whimpering, and Dimitri spoke again. 

"I wish you hadn't chosen this path." 

This wasn't really an interrogation. Byleth started begging for mercy as soon as Dimitri moved his hand. But it accomplished nothing, and his words dissolved into incoherence as Dimitri broke his forearm as well.

~~~

Eventually, Dimitri left, perhaps bored or perhaps needing to move on to more kingly pursuits. He took the guards, leaving Byleth alone to try to regain some sense of himself. He could survive this. He had suffered terrible injuries in the long-distant past. _Don't think about what state your arm is in. Just... just breathe._

The healer approached at placed a large red-and-white bag on the table. Byleth wasn't alone then. The healer opened the bag and searched through it. 

"Hi," said Byleth. His throat hurt, but there was no reason to be unfriendly to the healer. They were just doing a job. "I'm Byleth, but maybe you know that." 

The healer paused for a moment. They placed a gloved hand on Byleth's forearm, over one of the fractures, and squeezed. 

Byleth screamed, vision blurring. He tried to twist away, which was a mistake as a new, worse pain shot up and down his arm. How could it hurt _more_?! He tried to kick out, but his ankles were still fixed to the table. He felt the jagged edges of his bones digging into the flesh of his arm and - 

\- and then there was something in his mouth. Byleth tried to turn his head to the side but it followed him and he couldn't fight it and it was still being pressed deeper. He gagged, eyes watering. Leather. The healer had pushed a strip of leather into his mouth, far enough that he couldn't easily spit it back out. 

The pain in Byleth's arm eased to a dull nauseating thrum as the healer let go. They raised a finger to the part of the mask where the lips would be. Frustrated, Byleth started to protest, but only an incomprehensible mumble came out. This was too much. At least Dimitri's violence had a sort of purity about it. But this cold humiliation made tears leak from the corners of Byleth's eyes. He let his head fall to the side and stared into the distance. 

Once assured of his compliance, the healer was efficient, if not kind. They manipulated Byleth's bones into more-or-less the right places. (And here it was a small mercy Byleth had something to _bite down_ on.) Then the bright flare of a spell wheel lit up the room and Byleth was... no longer in pain? That had been serious battlefield magic, the kind even an experienced mage could only cast a few times a day. Strange, to spend this on him. But Dimitri had said he wasn't ready to do anything permanent _yet_. Or he had more anger than one body could survive, more likely. 

The healer briefly disappeared, then returned with the guards. They untied Byleth enough to force him into a sitting position. Byleth pulled the leather from his mouth, then waved weakly and said, "I'll be quiet," when the healer started towards him. 

The healer, still wordless, directed Byleth through demonstrating the range of motion in his arm. Once satisfied that Byleth was restored, they nodded at the guards and picked up their bag. They snapped a finger and pointed at the fireplace at the far end of the room, which lit with flame. Then they shouldered the bag and left. 

Byleth decided against trying to talk to the guards. They untied his legs, lifted him from the table, and shuffled him back into his cell. They left the cuffs and the collar on, but those seemed to be part of Byleth's permanent ensemble now. 

Byleth slumped onto the straw mattress on the floor and cradled his right arm against his chest. The guards locked the cell door and wheeled the table out of the room. He heard the lock turning in the outer door, and then he was alone with his thoughts and the pop of the wood in the fireplace. It was too far to really warm him, but it would help with the perpetual chill. 

Small comfort.

~~~

Where did it all go so wrong? Felix. The turning point had to be Felix. Byleth had fought him at Arianrhod. Having come so far, he couldn't pass up the chance to have a real duel with the greatest swordsman in Fódlan.

Sylvain had tried to face Felix first. If you put Sylvain and Felix on opposite sides of the war, each decided they were Fated To Kill Each Other or some poetic nonsense. There had been no way Sylvain would defeat Felix at this point in time, but it was effectively tradition. So Byleth let him try _once_.

Felix had barely broken stride cutting Sylvain down. Byleth had shaken his head, unwound time, and screamed to the Strike Force that he would take Felix and they should focus on Rodrigue.

Dueling Felix felt incredible. He could see the excitement in Felix's eyes as well - the joy of a real challenge. Fighting Felix had made Byleth feel alive in a way he so rarely got to experience anymore. There was a thrill running through him the entire match. Felix was a creative fighter, and he knew how to use the environment - he'd leapt up onto a low wall and forced Byleth to trip down several steps to avoid his blade. 

In truth, Felix was _better_ than Byleth. Byleth was going to win - that was a foregone conclusion - but only because he could cheat. 

Byleth had kept count of how many times he had to reverse time's flow. One, two, three Pulses. The thing about Felix was that he was a master at precision strikes. You didn't get a second shot at Felix. He only needed a small opening to put his blade in your heart or lungs. He'd hit you once, his ridiculous Crest would flare, and that would be it. So you had to take him out before he could strike.

At six Pulses, Byleth switched to the Sword of the Creator. Normally he'd save it for a more dire fight, but he knew he could take Felix out if he could just rearrange things a little and use a slightly better weapon...

Finally, he saw an opening - a wicked slice up Felix's right side that severed his sword arm. Felix screamed and dropped to one knee as his shoulder sprayed blood. 

"Nine," said Byleth, panting. "You should know -"

"No! I won't -" Felix dropped his Aegis shield and his left hand crackled as he tried to call the lightning.

Felix never quit. What a glorious, infuriating man.

But, despite all his skill, Felix was too injured to stop Byleth from putting the Sword of the Creator into his throat. He collapsed forward. Felix deserved a better death than bleeding out with his face down in the stones. But he'd be restored to youth and vitality and complaining about his boar prince soon enough. This world had been a loss since last month anyway. 

"You should know," said Byleth, though it was probably too late, "I think you really are the greatest swordsman who ever lived, and there is nothing you could have done, because you were fighting a god." 

Then Byleth dusted himself off and discovered that Sylvain had fucking gone and gotten himself killed _anyway_. 

And Byleth did not have enough Pulses left to... to _fix_ everything, and he had to keep the one in reserve, and they lost several _more_ people getting through to Cordelia... and... 

... and that's what eventually brought him here, trapped in a cell in the dim light of the dungeons beneath Castle Fhirdiad, bound in enchanted silver and... 

Byleth pulled up his shirt, as though it would be gone if he just checked enough times. 

The truth, the real truth, was that he knew he was here because of his own arrogance. Nothing had prevented him from saying, "Sylvain, we'll do it together. You throw fire at Felix and then I'll close on him." Nothing except his own selfish desire to face the man one-on-one, to have a _real duel_. 

The scar on Byleth's chest was a gruesome starburst. It was deep, and messy, the wound closed over by magic but never to heal smooth. Byleth sat in his cell, feeling the wretched thumping in his chest. He started to cry again, mourning the loss of his heart, and with it both his past and his future.

**Author's Note:**

> in the silence of the long after,  
> all that remains are memories of you


End file.
